Caring Is Not an Advantage
by the-time-goddess-of-221b
Summary: "I need proof, I need help, I need answers. And the only ones who can give them to me are the ones who caused me the pain in the first place." Follow Sherlock and John on a thrilling adventure into the paranormal as they meet a young ex assassin bent on finding her brother before time runs out. For them all.


It was a dark and damp night in London as I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, trying to move as quickly as possible. I could feel the eyes of my pursuers burning into the back of my head as I ran. Someone elbowed me in the small of my back and I stumbled forward, almost losing my balance and falling face first onto the concrete. _Gotta keep moving, don't stop, don't look back_. I rounded the corner and broke into a jog, it seems I had made it through the main swarm of bodies and found a clearer walkway to run down at last.

My breath was hitching and I was sweating. I needed to find that warehouse soon, before my stamina ran out and they caught up. As I jogged past a shop I glanced at the reflections in the glass. Two blurry figures were jogging not far behind. Good, they hadn't gotten lost.

I skidded into the next available dark ally and broke into a full out run. I heard my stalkers do the same and listened to their pounding footsteps echo around the deserted path. I could tell from their footsteps that one had long strides and the other's were much shorter. But they would both catch up real soon, and that was not an option until I had made it to my destination.

I made as many turns as I could without losing my way and gradually heard the footsteps become more distant.

There. I took one more right turn and skidded to a halt. In front of me was an incredibly dark dead end. The door to the warehouse was along the right wall, carefully concealed in shadow. I ran to the darkest part of the wall I could find and waited. The perfect spot for an ambush, it was one of those shadows that if you were the one inside it you could see anyone who passed by, but they would never see you. One way glass.

The echoes grew louder and I took a deep breath and held it so they couldn't hear me breathe. The silhouette of a tall, lean man rounded the corner and ran straight into my little trap.

"Sherlock! Wait up!" The shorter one shouted from behind, just as I planned. Take one on at a time.

Sherlock didn't even flinch at the sound of his name being called. He slowed down, pulled out a gun from his back pocket, and proceeded into the dark with caution. I slinked along the back wall and silently positioned myself in front of him. _Three, two, one, GO!_

I sprang into action and kicked the gun out of his hand. Block, parry, punch, kick, pain. I gasped as his foot collided into my stomach and I struggled for breath.

"John! I need you!" he yelled, his deep voice bouncing off the brick walls. I never stopped fighting, stopping would have meant losing and that couldn't happen, there was too much at stake. So I fought through my pain.

Kick, jab, roll, bite, stomp, bang! He slumped to the floor, a bruise already forming on his forehead from where it had collided with the wall.

I had just enough time to pull the body into the door of the warehouse before I heard the shorter one, John apparently, round the corner and grind to a halt. I slunk back to the shadows. Just like his colleague he pulled out his weapon and advanced slowly.

"Sherlock?" He questioned cautiously into the dark. When he got no reply he slowed to a stop held up his gun.

"I know you're in there. Stop running, we just want to help."

I stayed put, not making a sound. He started walking forward again.

"Please come out, I don't want any trouble."

I snorted. Of course he wanted trouble, that's all they ever wanted.

I slapped my hand over my mouth as I realized my mistake and he came running towards the sound. Caught off guard I only barely managed to stumble out of the way before he kicked out where I had just been standing. I regained my balance and turned to face him, only to find my view obstructed by the shadow. Now I couldn't see him, but he could see me.

I lashed out at the darkness and felt a blow to my ribs. I groaned and rolled away from the threat. Dodge, block, parry, kick, slice. I had gotten the gun out of his hand but now he held a knife and I felt the cool metal slide through the skin on my cheek. Growling I kicked at his knee and heard him fall as his legs gave out. While he was down I scrambled for the gun and grasped the handle just before a strong hand gripped my ankle and pulled my feet out from under me. He pulled me backwards toward him but I twisted in his grip and swung the butt of the pistol at his head. I felt steel collide with skull and it was over. I groaned and stood up; he had been a much tougher opponent than I had anticipated.

I pulled him into the warehouse and tied both of them to two chairs. I needed answers, and I knew the only way I was going to get them was like this. I finished the knots securing Sherlock's wrists and took a step back, examining his every feature. I nodded; yes that was definitely him, no doubt about it.

"I know you're awake, there's no point in pretending." I said briskly to my dark haired prisoner after a few more seconds of tense silence.

He smiled slightly and chuckled. "How'd you know?" He opened his eyes and raised his head. For a man who had just been beaten and abducted he looked pretty calm.

"You're breathing pattern. When you regained consciousness it sped up slightly but when you realized what was going on you tried to slow it back down to make it look like you were still asleep. It wasn't very convincing. The slow shallow breaths looked forced, might want to work on that." I retorted as I grabbed the nearest box of worthless junk and sat on top of it.

An amused smile played at the corners of his mouth, "Well spotted."

"Thank you, but down to business." I reached down and picked up the man's former weapon and cocked it. "Where is he?" I asked as I pointed it at his head.

He raised his eyebrow at me. Other than that he didn't react at all to the gun and continued to stare at me with a slightly amused look.

"Don't play games with me," I said, getting angry now. "Where is Tom?!"

All of the amusement went out of his gaze and he became cold. Not physically cold, but emotionally. His glare sent chills down my spine as his eyes flickered over my body, examining every detail. And his features hardened, becoming an impenetrable mask. "You won't shoot me, I can see it in your eyes. Strange that you would have such a strong moral principle, seeing that you've had no problem killing before. Being as ex-assassin, after all." I flinched at his words and felt the blood drain from my face. How could he _possibly_ know that?

"Besides," he continued, "you obviously need answers. Answers that apparently only I can give, and I couldn't give them to you if I was dead."

He was right, I couldn't shoot him. _Wouldn't_ shoot him. But I would shoot his still unconscious companion if I had to, so I moved the weapon so it was pointed at John instead. "No, I won't shoot you. But I will shoot him, so start talking. Where. Is. My. Brother?"

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow at me, "At the bar, most likely."

I fumed. How on earth did this lunatic know Tom was a drinker? And how dare he make a joke of it, after all he did to him.

"How would I possibly know where your precious brother is? I have never met him in my life." He added before I could think of a clever comeback. "In fact, I've never even met _you_ before. So tell me, who are you and why did you kidnap us to question me about someone I've never seen?"

Great, now he was lying _and_ being a jackass. "My name is Miranda Rose, and you are the man who tortured and took my brother."

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**A/N: I think I am going to discontinue this story. I am having a really hard time coming up with a story line. If you want to know where I going with this story then drop me a PM and I'd be happy to tell you :)**


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